


one and done

by halo21



Category: Bright Eyes (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, One Night Stands, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo21/pseuds/halo21
Summary: "came to the wedding, you were looking rough. watch the masochists all celebrating love."-in which conor makes one lucky lady's evening much better after she watches her ex-boyfriend get married.
Relationships: Conor Oberst/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	one and done

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a picture of Conor in a suit and this is what it turned into. 
> 
> Warnings: None.
> 
> Title from "One and Done" by Bright Eyes

It was a lovely wedding.

Everything around her is light-colored and pristine, blinding white with elegant little touches of powder blue here and there. She feels out of place in the midst of all of it, — her own dress is red, and at least one size too small.

The last time she wore it, she was going to prom with the groom. 

She stands off to the side, her champagne flute — now thrice filled, — sweating in her hand as she stares at the happy couple.

His hand is over hers as she holds the knife over the top tier of the cake, as if the feat isn't something she can handle on her own. A camera flashes, and both of them show off their perfect rows of white teeth.

Once the flash fades, the bride cuts through the cake. She scoops her piece onto a plate, and her new husband follows suit.

Of course, that was merely a trick. Soon enough, that pretty slice that she cut for herself is smeared across the groom's face. His mouth drops open in an expression of shock, feigned or otherwise. The bride laughs, and nearly all of her guests laugh along with her.

'Nearly' being the operative word there.

The woman holding onto her champagne flute for dear life doesn't laugh. Instead, she bites down on her bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed, reminding herself not to shatter the glass in her hand.

She doesn't know why she came here. Except for the fact that she must be a masochist, of course.

The newlyweds step off to the side, giving the guests their opportunity to converge upon the cake. Figuring she might as well find something to enjoy in the midst of all this, she steps into line.

One by one, the people obtain their slices and head back to their seats. Once it's her turn, she takes a hearty helping and crosses the room, heading back towards the bar.

She fills her champagne flute up once more before digging her fork into her slice of cake and shoveling it into her mouth.

The thing has too many flavors mixed into it, but she supposes it's tasty enough. There's a hint of raspberry, which she isn't quite sure about, but she could eat the buttercream frosting that is too thinly spread across the top of it by the spoonful.

She reckons it would be good enough to at least get the baker into the second round of Cupcake Wars.

Almost mechanically, she takes greedy bites of the cake, punctuated by sips of champagne. All the while, she wonders what turning point led to her life ending up this way.

She had it so good back in high school. She had a bright future ahead of her. She had a fantastic guy who loved her, — the very same guy that she can see wiping frosting off his face across the room. She didn't spend each night fretting over whatever the hell the future might bring, — in fact, she was excited for the things to come.

She was happy.

The taste of raspberry grows fainter on her tongue as she feels something slide down her cheek. She reaches one freshly-manicured hand up to swipe at her face, only for it to come away streaked with mascara.

Her heart sinks.

Fuck.

She had worked hard on that makeup.

This last small disaster serves as the cherry on top of this evening of shittiness. Much too quickly, her dainty sniffles turn into full on sobs. She places her cake plate down on the bar behind her, clapping a hand over her mouth.

This is so fucking embarrassing. She's becoming the poster girl for "hot mess," — having a drunken mental breakdown at her ex's wedding, sloshing champagne down the front of the prom dress that she should've taken to Goodwill eight years prior.

This is it, she finds herself thinking. I've reached the bottom. My lowest low. It just doesn't get any worse than this.

Yet, it does.

"Jesus Christ," she hears someone mutter.

She hopes with every bit of her that it's just a random passerby, but no, she's not that lucky. Of course she isn't.

She forces her eyes all the way open, only to see some guy staring at her with a look of concern.

"Hey," he says, voice mercifully low amidst the clamor of the reception. "Are you okay?"

She simply makes a pitiful whining noise in response.

That's all she can do, really.

The guy's face softens. He reaches for the breast pocket of his overcoat. After a few moments of fumbling, he withdraws a pale blue handkerchief.

He extends his arm, holding it in front of her. "Here."

Gratefully, she takes it, reaching up to dab beneath her eyes.

Slowly, the guy steps closer to her, — approaching as if she were some feral animal that might attack at any moment. "I hope that helps," he says. "You can keep it. Obviously, you need it more than I do..."

She sniffles, pulling the handkerchief away from her face. "Thank you," she manages.

The guy gives a stiff nod in reply. Clearly, he doesn't know what to say.

She doesn't blame him. If she were in his shoes, she'd have no idea where to start.

For now, she chooses to simply stand in companionable silence with this stranger. While he seems to be preoccupied watching the crowd beginning to mill back towards the dancefloor, she takes the sight of him in.

He's dressed much better than she is, — a three piece, black and white suit, wrapped up with a pale blue tie and some white flower pinned above his pocket. She glances back towards the floor, taking note of the several young men dancing drunkenly in the exact same getup.

* _He's a groomsman,_ * she realizes.

From there, her gaze travels upwards. She wants to see if she recognizes him, — to see if he's someone she might've seen a time or two back in school.

If she had known him, she can't place him. He is somewhere around her age, though, with a solemn sort of face, dark, too-long hair falling over his big brown eyes, five o'clock shadow just barely visible.

Her heart does yet another paranoid flip.

* _Oh fuck. He's kind of cute._ *

He turns back towards her then, those eyes connecting with hers. She can't stand how concerned he looks, — like he's trying to diffuse a bomb that is threatening to detonate.

"Feeling any better?" he asks carefully.

She nods. "A bit," she confirms. "Thanks."

"Hey, any time." The corners of his mouth twitch for a moment before he lets out a nervous chuckle. "Although I hope this doesn't happen to you often. Kind of seems like it's one of those things that's only acceptable once in a lifetime, bawling your fucking eyes out into a piece of wedding cake..."

"Oh, this is the first time," she interrupts him. "And I really hope it's the last."

His mouth curves up into a crooked grin, inspiring another flutter in her chest.

"Well, then," he says. "Guess that makes two of us."

They fall back into silence. She doesn't want it to stay quiet. Talking to him makes her feel less borderline suicidal than she has all evening.

So she opens her mouth again. "So, how do you know the groom?" she asks. "I reckon there's some relation, seeing as how you match all the men in the wedding party."

He smiles, flashing an endearingly crooked row of teeth. "I wrote all his English assignments before I dropped out of college," he replies. "Now he's eternally indebted to me. What about you? There's gotta be some kind of history..."

Her lips curl into a bitter grin. "He popped my cherry under the bleachers of a high school football field."

"Shit." The guy giggles nervously, running his hand up from the back of his neck and through his hair. "This can't be fun for you, then. I'm sor—"

She shakes her head, surprising herself. "Don't be," she says. "I should be over it by now. I'm being stupid."

The smile fades from the guy's face. "No, you aren't," he says. "It can't be easy, seeing someone you gave a part of yourself to giving his life to somebody else. Of course you're hurting."

His eyes meet hers, and her face burns. They catch the light, going from brown to gold and back again, though she knows they'd be just as intense in any color.

He's not cute, she realizes then.

He's cute as * _fuck,_ * and he gave her his handkerchief, and he makes her feel oddly understood.

Suddenly, she finds herself wanting to forget about the man with cake smeared all over his face, probably sneaking into a rented limousine right now, en route to fuck his new wife non-stop for a week in some exotic location.

While he does that, she wants to sneak off somewhere with this strange groomsman and hike up her skirt for him. Maybe he wouldn't be the first guy she did that for, but it would be her first time hooking up with a stranger at a wedding, and well...

There's a first time for everything.

Gently, she nudges him. "Do you wanna get out of here for a sec?"

Much to her delight, he reaches down to grab her hand. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea."

-

She pulls him through the corridor of the reception hall, searching desperately for a vacant room with a lock on the door. All that they find is bathrooms, however, all of which are currently swarming with people, seeing as how everyone seems to be pumping themselves full of alcohol.

She is almost prepared to give up when he tugs at her hand. "Come on," he says, pulling them towards the staircase.

She follows after him as he leads her up the winding stairs. Once they reach the landing, they walk a bit further, only to stop in front of a blue-painted door. "There."

The sign on the door reads "Groom's Party."

She turns towards her new companion, wide-eyed. "You're certain this is a good idea?" she asks.

"Positive," he replies quickly. "Less traffic than downstairs, definitely."

With that, she follows him inside.

While he flips on the light and locks the door behind them, she examines the room. There are still things strewn around from the preparations for the ceremony, — a bottle of cologne, some hair gel, a few combs. She hopes no one comes back for anything in the middle of the deed. That would be just her luck.

She stops fretting over this for a moment as she feels his arms snake around her waist. She can't help but melt into him, — he's warm, and he smells nice, and she likes the way his hands feel as they fall to her hips.

His lips brush over the side of her neck. Breath hitching, she tilts her head back, doing her best to give him access as he mouths over her skin.

To her chagrin, he releases her all too soon. She steps back, turning around to send him a questioning glance.

A groan breaks up from low in his throat as he looks at her, his hands travelling back to her waist. "C'mere," he beckons. "Let me see you."

He backs himself onto a large, cushioned chair, leaving her to drop onto his lap.

He looks up into her eyes. Smiling softly, he reaches out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "You're a real knockout, you know that?"

Heat floods to her cheeks. She doesn't figure that's the kind of question you're supposed to respond to. She'll let him think whatever he wants as she leans in closer to him, though, parting her lips in an invitation.

He meets her halfway, pressing his mouth to hers. She sighs, eyes fluttering shut as his lips move against hers. His mouth feels just as good as his hands, and neither have even ended up anywhere too suggestive yet.

As she kisses him, she finds herself thanking whoever is responsible for fate for leading her to him. She doesn't care whose wedding she's at anymore, — just that she found him here. Perhaps she's luckier than she thought.

His tongue slides past her teeth, brushing against hers. Her knees turn to jelly.

If this is just how he kisses, what else can that tongue do?

This thought in mind, she kisses him harder, shifting slightly in his lap in an attempt to get as close to him as she possibly can. He gasps, pulling back.

"Jesus," he breathes. "You're... fucking amazing." 

She grins. "I think I could say the same about you."

"Hah," he chuckles.

The hand that had previously been gripping onto her hip travels down her thigh, his touch feather light. That shouldn't make her heart beat so much faster, but it does.

Maybe she had been needing to sleep with a random stranger for a while now.

He gives her that sideways grin again, dark eyes flashing. "You've still got mascara all over you, you know."

Flustered, she brings a hand up to her face. Before she can attempt to wipe it away, he catches her hand in his.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "It was gonna end up running, anyway."

With that, he nudges her gently. "Stand up real quick?"

Still flustered from his mascara comment, she obliges.

He stands up before backing away from the chair. "You can sit back down."

When she realizes what he's suggesting, her blush deepens. "You don't have to—"

"Hey, you're having a rough night. I think you deserve it. Now sit back and relax."

Holy shit. If he isn't careful, she's going to fall head over heels for this guy by the time the night's over.

She collapses back into the chair, weak-kneed and lightheaded.

He drops to his knees, head disappearing underneath her skirt.

She laughs. "All I need is a garter belt..."

"I think you're just fine without one." He kisses up her thigh before stopping at her underwear.

She doesn't expect for him to pull her panties off hands-free. Sure as hell, though, he emerges from under the red fabric with them between his teeth.

She blinks down at him. "Where did you learn—"

"Neat party trick." He reaches down, tucking the garments into his back pocket.

"What kind of parties are you going to?"

"You'd be surprised what happens at record label parties."

"You're signed to a record label?"

"Let's save the conversation for later."

His head disappears beneath her dress again, a hand coming to rest on her leg as he buries his face between her thighs.

His tongue flicks out then, and her head falls back against the chair. "Jesus..." she hisses.

He pulls away, coming back up with a mischievous glint in his eye.

She groans, glaring down at him. "You're a fucking tease."

"That's what I hear." He chuckles before planting another kiss on the inside of her thigh, — which is perfectly nice, but not where she wants him to be.

She's starting to get impatient.

"Come on," she huffs out. "You're just being mean at this point..."

"Oh, I'm being mean?"

Without warning, he pulls away completely. "How about now?"

She rolls her eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be making my night better..."

He chuckles. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." His head dips back down once more. Only this time, his tongue is pressed right where she needs it, and he seems to plan on staying there as he begins to move his mouth.

She gasps, legs clamping around his head.

It seems that her earlier thought about his skills in the tongue department didn't even begin to cover the matter. He's even better than she expected, — better than any of her past boyfriends. Hell, he's making her consider dragging him to the altar as soon as this is all over.

"Fuck... right there," she gasps. "God... Please..."

She bites into her bottom lip and screws her eyes shut. She wants to cry out his name, but it occurs to her then that she doesn't even know it.

She doesn't know him at all, and he's making her feel things no man ever has before.

There's something unfair about that, truly.

Not as unfair as the fact that he stops moving his tongue, though, just as soon as things were really starting to get good. She opens her eyes, shooting him a sharp glare. "What are you—"

He cuts her off by kissing her quickly. He pulls away, smiling lazily.

"You're fucking delicious," he tells her. "Better than the wedding cake."

"Well, thanks..."

"And I want to get this dress off of you."

He grabs her hands, pulling her to her feet before kissing her again, — hard this time. Needy.

Soon, he has her backed against the wall. He pulls away, panting, as he presses his forehead against hers. "I always thought that guy was a fucking idiot," he says. "But now I know for sure. I mean, he had you..."

"I don't want to think about him anymore," she cuts him off. "I just want you to fuck me."

She slides her arms around his neck, pressing her chest against his.

"Make me yours," she murmurs to him.

He takes a shaky breath. "Fuck."

His hands tremble as they move towards her back, pulling down the zipper of her dress. It falls around her feet in a puddle of red silk, leaving her completely exposed to him.

He looks down at her. "Well... guess I don't have to worry about unhooking a bra this time..."

She giggles. "Didn't want to bother with trying to find a strapless one," she explains. "Seeing as how I met you, I'm thinking that was a good decision." 

She reaches out then, tugging his overcoat off. Her fingers fumble with his tie clumsily, before his hand covers hers. "Here."

He helps her loosen it up enough to begin working at the buttons of his dress shirt. She undoes those quickly, stopping to rub her hand down his chest once she's opened them all.

She smiles, looking up at him. "Your heart's going insane," she tells him.

He laughs. "Well, it isn't every night I have a beautiful woman, begging me to fuck her..."

"I wouldn't know that." Her hand slides down towards the fly of his pants. She undoes the button quickly, unsure how much longer she can wait. She wants him so badly it makes her head spin.

She had never known that she could feel this way about someone she just met, but God, she does. She really does.

His lips travel back towards her neck, making it hard for her to stand up straight as she tugs his pants down.

His hands return to her hips, holding her steady. She turns her head, causing their lips to connect once again.

She kisses him like she's never kissed anyone before, keenly aware of the fact that there's just one article of clothing separating the two of them.

If she wasn't dizzy before, he makes sure that she eventually ends up that way. His hand slides between her legs. He pulls away from her kiss with a groan.

"You're so wet." He slips a finger inside of her and crooks it. "I can't wait until—"

"Fuck me," she orders. "Just fuck me right up against this wall. Please. I can't keep waiting..."

"Okay, okay." He laughs, and she wants to tell him he's a jackass, — but he has the cutest fucking giggle, and she can't even complain. "Just hold on one second."

Reluctantly, she unwraps herself from around him.

He walks a few feet, opening one of the drawers in the vanity. Surely enough, there's a box of condoms in there.

He pulls one out, grinning proudly. "The amenities they have here, huh?" he asks. "And to think that I came unprepared..."

She rolls her eyes. "For the love of God, just come over h—"

"So impatient." He quickly pins her to the wall again before tugging his underwear down and rolling the condom on. "That's a virtue, you know, patience..."

"You are the most horrible tease that I've ever met," she tells him.

"I'll try to make it up to you." He kisses her quickly before pulling back. His hand comes to rest on her side again as she wraps her legs around his waist.

Those honey brown eyes meet hers once more. "Are you sure y—"

"Fucking do it."

Without protesting, he sinks into her. She does her best not to hit her head against the wall, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Fuck..." she curses.

"Yeah." He kisses her neck again as he begins to move, his voice right in her ear as he pants.

"You feel so good," he tells her. "You're so... God, you're so fucking * _hot._ * You're perfect."

She whimpers, burying her face in his neck as he speeds up. He plunges in deeper, hitting something inside of her. She gasps, digging her fingernails hard into his back.

"Oh God... right there..."

"That feels good, huh?" He rolls his hips again, managing to fall into a rhythm that leaves him hitting that spot again and again.

Her knees go weak, leaving her melting against the wall as near incomprehensible sounds fall from her lips.

"Shhh." He drives into her hard, hips jerking as he throws his head back, letting out a surprisingly breathy moan. "God..."

She moves against his next thrust, causing him to let out another groan. "Just like that, baby," he encourages her, voice hitching at the end of his sentence. "Go ahead... Fuck me..."

She pushes back against him with every move he makes, letting out the occasional gasp as he reaches that place inside of her that drives her closer to the edge. She can feel herself nearing the point of no return with his every movement, every sound he makes, the way that his hands continue exploring her body, still completely new to him.

It's almost too much, but she doesn't want to let go yet. All she can do is hold onto him tighter, squeezing her legs around his waist, digging her fingernails into his back and scratching as though she's out for blood.

He sighs at that, bringing his lips back to hers. His tongue is in her mouth again, and she's closing her eyes, reaching up to run her hands through his messy hair.

He reaches down, rubbing quick circles against her clit, causing her to tighten around him.

"Go ahead, baby," he says. "Come for me. That's it..."

She closes her eyes, letting out a high-pitched cry as she comes. She leans into him, gripping him as tightly as she can as she trembles. He holds her, offering encouragements.

"That's it, that's it. Good girl. Oh fuck..." He goes still inside of her before burying his face in her hair, groaning as he trembles beneath her hands, following her down.

He sighs, his breathing still ragged as he collapses against her, coming down. Once he seems to have come back to earth, he kisses her one last time. It's soft this time, almost innocent. He pulls away from her, reaching out to brush a sweat-soaked strand of her from her forehead.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

Weakly, she nods. "Yeah." She giggles. "Can barely feel my legs, though..."

"Maybe you should sit down."

"Yeah. Maybe."

He takes her hand, leading her back to the chair where it all started. She takes a seat as he picks their clothes off the floor. He hands her dress back to her as he begins to pull his underwear back on. "You know... whenever you want that... not that I'm complaining."

She huffs out a laugh, swatting playfully at him.

She watches as he buttons his shirt back up carefully, then pulls his jacket back on. He reaches into his back pocket, grinning as he holds up her discarded panties. "So... do you want these back? Or can you do without for the rest of the night?"

"Why?" she asks. "Want something to remember me by?"

The smile on his face gives away his answer. "Maybe..."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Keep them. I've got plenty."

"Okay." He tucks them back into his pocket before patting the top of his coat. "In return..."

He removes that white flower pinned above his breast pocket, before bending down and handing it to her.

A smile spreads across her face as she looks down at it. "Wasn't the handkerchief enough, though?"

He shakes his head. "Not considering it's got makeup and snot all over it," he says. "Speaking of which, we should probably stop by the bathroom and clean your face up. If you go downstairs like that, people will definitely figure out what we've been up to."

"Okay, okay." She stands up, pulling her dress back up. She reaches around, struggling to pull the zipper back up.

"Here." She feels one of the groomsman's hands come to rest at the small of her back, pulling it back up from there.

She turns around. "Thanks," she says quietly.

"Any time."

After ensuring that they left no obvious traces of themselves in the room, they head for the bathroom, where she wets a paper towel and wipes the mascara streaks from her cheeks and attempts to tame her hair.

She can see him standing behind her in the mirror, watching as she struggles to collect herself. Finally, she steps back, turning around to face him. "Is this good enough?" she asks.

"Pretty as can be," he replies. The sparkle in his eyes makes her believe it.

-

He walks her back down the stairs and through the reception hall. The crowd is thinning out, the bride and groom nowhere in sight.

The two of them step out into the late evening air, his hand still in hers as she unlocks her car, waiting for the telltale flash of headlights.

"It's this way," she says, pulling him behind her.

They cross the parking lot until they reach her car.

Even in the dark, she can see him run his hand over his neck nervously. "So..." he says. "I guess this is it?"

"Yeah." She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the driver side door. "Yeah, I guess it is."

He hesitates for a moment before speaking up again. "Do you..." he says. "Would you happen to live nearby?"

"About thirty minutes out."

"Would you be completely opposed to grabbing a coffee with me next weekend?"

She bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to burst into a fit of giddy laughter. "Doesn't that completely defeat the purpose of a one night stand?"

"Maybe I don't want you to be a one night stand," he replies. "Maybe I need to see you again. Maybe I want to know you."

She can't help it, — a stupid smile breaks across her face. "Maybe I want to know you, too."

"So is that a yes?"

"Sure."

"Great."

He leans in, giving her a quick peck on the lips before pulling back. "Can I get your number?"

She holds a hand out. "Let me put it into your phone."

He hands it over. She quickly types in the digits along with her name and hands it back over. "There you go."

"Thanks." He takes the phone back. "Guess I'll talk to you soon?"

"Soon enough."

-

When she arrives back to her apartment in one piece, the first thing she does is check her phone.

Surely enough, there's a message from a new number.

_Hope I made your night less shitty, because you made mine a million times better. And are you free next Saturday?_

_Also, I can't believe we forgot to share names after all of this. I'm Conor._

She grins, typing up a quick response.

_Trust me, you made tonight a million times less shitty, and yes, I am free next Saturday._

_It was my pleasure to meet you, Conor. I hope I'll see you again soon._   
  
  
  
  



End file.
